


This City Never Sleeps

by ekourege



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: (It makes sense in context), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Kyoko isn't sure what to believe, More tags to be added, Mukuro is a BITCH, Multiple POV's, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Possession of Animal Corpses, Sad Kid, ghost!tsuna, gosh tsuna what a lame death, he really be off his shits yall, he's dead and has lost all concepts of morality, her life doesn't end with Tsuna's death, his death was pathetic, hm. says a lot about my preferences, i also wrote about tsuna instead of chrome, i'm sorry basil, im a total protag lover, im the fandom of equivalent of a normie, it'll get better just not right now lmao, mostly Tsuna's because Angst™, nana is grieving but she is NOT a Tragic Mom trope, outsider pov, poor Nana, this au was supposed to be funny but I got my hands on it, this project is free-form so we'll see, tsuna has to realize some things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekourege/pseuds/ekourege
Summary: Tsuna is thirteen when he dies, thirteen and yet to make a single friend or receive a 100 percent on a test.It is not the end. Time sprints forward, pace unyielding even to those in death, and a world hidden by the light of day opens up in dark corners and strange happenings. The necromancer comes to town, and Tsuna finds out that the dying could live.





	1. you knew the answer from the start... didn't you?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to the Necromancer!chrome AU
> 
> It actually revolves around chrome, as stated in the name. However, this is just what I wrote first lol. Ill honestly end up writing more about Tsuna than I thought. hm.
> 
> For my partner in crime, Basil. 
> 
> May I forever endeavor to make your AU's sad.

Awareness comes to him in waves, gently guiding Tsuna back to consciousness. First, comes the instinctual knowledge of _being_ , of suddenly realizing “Oh! I _exist_.” Next, comes sensation, Tsuna remembers that he is _Tsuna_ , that he is _human_ , and his heart _beats_ and pumps a rushing tide of blood throughout his entire body, working tirelessly to keep him alive. He remembers his fingertips, the tips of his toes, and how every touch against them sends sparks along his motor neurons, sending them along a split-second line all the way up to his brain.

Tsuna wakes up.

It is not quick, and multiple attempts are made to pry his eyes open, while during that time his hearing comes back, and Tsuna realizes that whatever he is laying on is _cold_.

The pre-teen sits up with a groan, wondering why his body feels so heavy; yet so light all the same, as if he’s lost something that anchored him previously.

It’s dark. Tsuna knows that he’s in his own home, knows the cream-colored walls and wooden flooring like the back of his hand, whether that knowledge comes from growing up in this very house or meeting the material with his face so many times is yet to be decided, although he has to wonder.

Where is all the furniture?

The hallway is bare, there are no photos where some previously hung, no rugs on the floor where there were previously some, no tables in sight. Peering into the kitchen from where he stands shows the boy that it, too, is empty. Empty and dark.

There are no lights on.

More importantly, where is his mother? She doesn’t work, from what he knows, preferring to stay home and tend to her garden or practice her cooking skills…

A shot of panic jolts through Tsuna’s body, startling him into action. His hands grow clammy as he throws open cabinets, peers into the space where the refrigerator once was, investigates every nook and cranny in the space with fervor.

Empty, empty, empty.

Maybe - _please please please_ \- the kitchen is being refurbished? Heart in his throat, Tsuna frantically assures himself that’s what it is. Surely, his life couldn't just be _gone_ , no matter what his classmates wished.

Tsuna is running now, (and if he had been paying attention, he’d notice his feet don’t make a sound), breath heavy and panicked.

Everything is empty, the house is dark. (Tsuna tried to turn on the lights, flicking them on and off multiple times. The house stayed dark.) 

His mother is nowhere to be found. (Her room is _empty empty empty_ , just like the kitchen she had poured so much effort into.)

It’s as if his entire life was wiped away, every inch and mark Tsuna and his mother made thoroughly scrubbed clean.

Wait, why had he woken up at the bottom of the stairs?

Tsuna, shaking hard and nearly drowning in fear and dread, a veritable flood of negative emotion that beats and smashes at his insides, approaches the stairwell.

A fleck of red catches his eye.

Splattered on the steps, crusted and dry, is blood.

The empty, dark house. His mother being missing.

… waking up at the bottom of the stairs.

It all snaps into place at that moment.

Tsuna looks down at his hands, for real this time, and observes them.

They look the same, for the most part, nicked and slightly scared from his rough encounters with both the terrain of his neighborhood and other people. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, except or one thing.

He can see _through_ his hands.

Tsuna’s hands fall to his sides.

Oh.

… He’s dead, isn’t he?


	2. maybe if you'd pay just a little more attention...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world moves on, even if Tsuna doesn't. Those he left behind have to deal with the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, it's me. 
> 
> School's been a bastard recently, but I've managed to get a little bit of writing done. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Tsu-kun!”_

He’d fallen down the stairs.

Nana hadn’t thought much of it, then. She knew her son had a bad habit of doing just that; tripping on one of the loose steps and sliding the rest of the way down the stairs. It had been both endearing and concerning in that he’d been disgruntled, but ultimately unharmed by his frequent tumbles. It’d been _years_ by that point, you’d have thought he would’ve learned how to avoid the loose steps by now!

It _had_ , being the keyword. It _had_ been endearing, because Tsuna, her baby boy, was now dead.

All because of one little misstep.

Nana found herself unable to pry her eyes away from his corpse, the still-too-stiff-too-dead remains of what was once her son. No matter how hard her brain screamed, begging her to turn away from the horrific sight, blaring against her eardrums like train horns, her eyes stayed firmly glued to the body; caught on the awkward angle of his neck from where it had broken, of limbs bent in ways they shouldn’t have, and the smatters of blood along the steps where Tsuna had bashed and broke parts of his own body during his last tumble.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, her son, was 12-years-old.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was dead.

Nana knew she’d never recover from this, knew this wholly as her soul shattered, as her knees hit the floor and a broken wail ripped itself from her throat, forever mourning what she (and the world) had lost.

 

Nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

The house was too empty.

Only Nana lived there now. No one came to visit her. Iemitsu, after the funeral, had returned to work– _Work doesn’t stop, as much as I’d like it to_ –and left her alone.

Every day since, Nana woke up in a tizzy, desperately hoping that the death of her child was just a horrible, vivid nightmare. She’d shake and get out of bed with-too-short breathes, nearly halted in panic and dread, hoping that when she’d creep, painfully cautious, into his–empty–room, Nana find him lazily snoring through his alarm. Tsuna’s limbs sprawled haphazardly around him, bedding twisted and mused around him as he tossed and turned.

Nana would then be confronted with reality, of an empty room, and a dead son who slept only under a gravestone. It wasn’t just a nightmare, and Nana would never wake up from it.

Tsuna was dead, and this was her life now. She had to look at the bloodstains she couldn’t scrub out of the wooden stairs, Nana had to take in the knowledge that Tsuna was dead and buried, and that her child’s room was now empty, cleared of all signs that had he’d ever been alive - been a person, a growing boy.

Tsuna had never made it to high school, and he’d never even made any friends.

Nana was sure this was her fault, that if she’d just been there more, tried harder to urge him to get better grades, and didn’t settle into complacency so comfortably, Tsuna would be alive. She was sure of it. She couldn’t shake the thought that this house was a hell of her own making. A hell where she’d spend the rest of her days alone, with only the ghosts of her family’s presence haunting its halls. 

Shakily attempting to wipe away the tears that just _wouldn’t stop falling_ , Nana knew she couldn’t stay here. Getting a job wouldn’t be enough to stave off the ache, the loss of her own child. The burn of seeing her own broken world.

Nana needed out, and she needed it soon, or she’d surely drown in this grief.

* * *

Clothes were neatly folded and packed away in a suitcase, pictures of Tsuna and other sentimental items carefully tucked under them as a cushion. While she did this, the movers Nana had called were packing furniture and loading appliances into the truck parked outside.

Nana’s breaking point had prompted her to call Iemitsu, sobbing into the phone about how _she just couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear to be in this house anymore-_

Iemitsu, voice rough and scratchy from holding back tears, attempted to console her, attempted half-heartedly to convince her to reconsider, but quickly gave in to her broken pleas.

They’d sold the house a few, short weeks later.

As Nana gives the house she’d raised and lost her child in a final once-over, a numb sort of dread settles over her.

It was a new beginning. It was _Nana’s_ new beginning.

So, why does Nana feel like she’s dying?


	3. A house for sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna is trapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, here with this month's drabble!
> 
> As always, enjoy! If you feel so inclined, tell me what you think!

Tsuna stands (It’s more of a float, really. His feet never actually touch the ground, even when he walks.) just within the front yard of his childhood home. “... I can’t leave.” he says, voice toneless and eyes blank. Was that it, then? Was he… _bound_ in some way to this place, because he died here, where he had lived for all of his-short-life?

Words fall from Tsuna’s mouth unwittingly, strings of questions spoken in a near whisper, seeming to rise in sharpness, relaying Tsuna’s growing panic and desperation aloud. Tsuna tried, fruitlessly, to once again pass through the gate. He tries to stick his arm out through the metal gate and to the other side, but Tsuna finds that he simply _can’t._ It’s like something blocks him from leaving, almost like an invisible barrier but somehow… not. No one can see him. Tsuna had tried that already, stumbling straight through his front door and into the yard, calling out to anyone who passes by. Asking if they can _see_ him, _hear_ him, _sense_ him in some sort of way, show Tsuna that the other person _knows_ he’s there and _he exists_ and that he is not _gone_. Tsuna had waited with bated breath, hand fisted into the ratty t-shirt he’d been wearing when he died, but each and every time the ghost is met with disappointment, as he’d be confronted with their eyes going straight through him and his pleas falling on deaf ears. 

...Even the neighborhood cats couldn’t see him, for all their acclaim of being supernaturally inclined. 

Tsuna scuffs his feet against the ground, heart twinging when he can’t even kick up the dust on the ground, as the garden having been long gone. With its decline, it leaves only sand, cracked dirt, and dead grass behind. Tsuna eyes the “FOR SALE” sign fixed to the gate, and he wonders if anyone will ever purchase this house again. He doubts it, no one wants a house someone died in, after all. It could be haunted. Tsuna finds a sick sense of irony in that. “I… It’s… I should go back inside. There’s nothing out here for me, anyway…” Tsuna mumbles, posture hunched as he reenters the house. _‘Not that there’s really anything inside either.’_ Tsuna thinks, gloomily.

-

_The inside is still dark, and Tsuna doubts the lights will come back on anytime soon. His room is empty, as is the rest of the house._

__

There’s nothing to do, no one to talk to, nowhere to go. Tsuna is well and truly trapped here, destined to live out this misery until the house is torn down or he, somehow, finds some way to move on. The thought strikes something within him, a jagged bolt of rage unfurling from within his chest.

__

“How would you even do that?!” He shouts at the walls, frustrated. “I didn’t want to die! I… I want to see my Mom again… I want all of this to be a dream! I’d rather deal with school than this! I-I…” “I want my life back...” There is no response to his rage, to his plea. The house is silent, and only a creeping, poisonous thought replies. _‘But this is your life, isn’t it? Doing what you’ve always done: nothing.’_


	4. Round n' Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello! It's me again! this fic is finally getting non-chronological! Tsuna is Kinda Clingy, and Very Sad, as usual. lmk what you thought, and see yall next month!

Tsuna is pacing the front yard for the fourth time that day. He wasn’t sure about what time it was, and it had been forever since he’d seen a clock. 

Time was strange, now that he was dead. Days and nights were all out of sorts, and Tsuna’s inner sense of rhythm had become disconnected with the living world. Days and nights seemed to stretch, and the structured timetable he’d lived on while alive had unraveled, leaving a groundless feeling in its wake.

Not that Tsuna really needed time for anything, he was dead, after all. Couldn’t even tell how long it’d been since he died. The world spun on and on and on without him, but the changes to his environment were so minuet that there wasn’t even a difference between the days, other than the weather. 

These days, Tsuna just paced around his house, impatiently awaiting the next time the necromancer came to talk to him.

Her name was chrome, and she was kinda weird.

Scratch that, she was really weird. But it made sense, she was a necromancer (a real, living necromancer!), so she was bound to be at least a little off.

...yet, for all her power and knowledge of the dead, she could not bring him back.

His mother had him cremated, had his bones and skin and blood burned to ash and his remains purged from the living. There was nobody to reanimate, no Tsuna-like vessel for his soul to be tied to.

He was still stuck, even if someone could see him. (He pointedly ignored Mukuro. He didn’t count.)

Tsuna, in the end, was still tied to the walls of his old house and the dust where the garden used to be and the empty halls. They weren’t his anymore, and it wasn’t a place where his mother lived, breathed, and cooked, or where his bed was along with his manga collection. No, this place wasn’t his. 

It was dark, and cold, and empty, and lonely, and Tsuna would rather be tied to any other place than here.

This street was quiet, and rarely anyone passed by here.

Things were better now that Chrome came around. But when she wasn’t… things went back to how they’d been Before. And the gaping hole in his chest grew and grew and seemed to bleed more and more, until Tsuna could do no more than make laps around the house. Go up the stairs. Go down the stairs. Open and close the cabinets. Pace the front yard. Repeat.

Wait. For. Chrome. To. Come. Back.

(Hopefully… she’s not from around here, after all. She could be gone and never come back any day now, and it's just be him and eternity once again.)

It was all Tsuna could do.

* * *

Tsuna stands (It’s more of a float, really. His feet never actually touch the ground, even when he walks.) just within the front yard of his childhood home. “... I can’t leave.” he says, voice toneless and eyes blank. Was that it, then? Was he… _bound_ in some way to this place, because he died here, where he had lived for all of his (short) life?

Words fall from Tsuna’s mouth unwittingly, strings of questions spoken in a near whisper, seeming to rise in sharpness, relaying Tsuna’s growing panic and desperation aloud. Tsuna tried, fruitlessly, to once again pass through the gate. He tried to stick his arm out, through the metal gate and out the other side, but Tsuna finds that he simply _can’t._ It’s like something blocks him from leaving, almost like an invisible barrier but somehow… not. No one can see him. Tsuna had tried that already, stumbling straight through his front door and into the yard, calling out to anyone who passes by. Asking if they can _see_ him, _hear_ him, _sense_ him in some sort of way, show Tsuna that the other person _knows_ he’s there and _he exists_ and that he is not _gone_. Tsuna had waited with baited breath, hand fisted into the ratty t-shirt he’d been wearing when he died, but each and every time the ghost is met with disappointment, their eyes go straight through him and his pleas fall on deaf ears. 

...even the neighborhood cats can’t see him, for all their acclaim of being supernaturally inclined. 

Tsuna scuffs his feet against the ground, heart twinging when he can’t even kick up dust from the ground, the garden being long gone, leaving only sand, cracked dirt, and dead grass before. Tsuna eye’s the “FOR SALE” sign fixed to the gate, and he wonders if anyone will ever purchase this house. He doubts it, no one wants a house someone died in, after all. It could be haunted. Tsuna finds a sick sense of irony in that. “I… It’s… I should go back inside. Nothing out here for me, anyway…” Tsuna mumbles, posture hunched as he reenters the house. _‘Not that there’s really anything inside either.’_

The inside is still dark, and Tsuna doubts the lights will come back on anytime soon. His room is empty, as is the rest of the house.

There’s nothing to do, no one to talk to, nowhere to go. Tsuna is well and truly trapped here, destined to live out this misery until the house is torn down… or he finds some way to move on. The thought strikes something within him, a jagged bolt of rage unfurling from within his chest.

“How would you even do that?!” He shouts at the walls, frustrated. “I didn’t want to die! I… I want to see my Mom again… I want this all to be a dream! I’d rather deal with school than this! I-I…” “I want my life back..” _‘But this is your life, isn’t it? Doing what you’ve always done, nothing.’_


	5. From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna finds a new vantage point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is all written out!

Despite being dead, things weren’t really all that bad. 

Quite the contrary, actually. Little by little, thoughts about his death—and the raw, jagged wounds that came with it—had begun to settle.

He had...friends?

Well, Tsuna figured he could call them that. Though he found himself hesitant to consider Mukuro anything more than an ‘undead nuisance’, a polite and slightly fearless way of phrasing ‘fucking terrifying’.

Plus, Chrome had made him a promise.

Tsuna, despite the haziness that clouded his mind, could picture the result clearly.

Stopping past the gate, feeling the invisible chains that hold him down break off. Leaving this deadened, misery-sodden life-not-life behind.

Leaving it all behind. Like sugar on the taste buds he no longer had. The thought was sweet, leading him to a near sugar rush.

Chrome had also told him she had a few things to do beforehand, as apparently the ritual was quite complex.

But Tsuna could wait. 

It could take weeks, months, years…

Life after death had been nothing but waiting.

After all, what else was there to do?

Well, Tsuna thought. That’s not entirely true.

He could pretty much go wherever he wanted within the house’s (not his house, the house. It wasn’t his anymore) gates.

There were many places his mother had forbidden him from attempting when he was alive; “No climbing on the windowsill! Don’t go in the attic!”

“Stay off the roof!”

The reasoning for disallowing him from doing these things had been pretty solid—he could have gotten seriously injured, or even killed.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Tsuna’s mother was long gone. 

She’d gone far, far away from here.

Tsuna was dead, and she had left his ashes and his ghost behind. It was fine—he had come to accept it. To most, he was gone.

That meant two things.

One, Tsuna could interact with everything in the house in full. Though his “influence”, so to speak, was particularly strong near the stairs. There was no risk of him sinking through walls or floorboards unless he wished it.

Two, he was dead. There was no fear of death or serious injury, seeing as the first had already happened and thus the second was no longer a possibility. Falling could not hurt a ghost, evaporating any previous fear of bodily harm. (Yet he had still craved it not so long ago. Hoping something would hurt, just to prove he could still feel. That he was still human—albeit a dead one.) But he was past that now. As long as he existed in this form, feelings and physical stimuli were long gone.

His aim?

The roof, obviously. 

Tsuna could no longer tire, he couldn’t feel his ‘muscles’ ache or run out of breath. He could attempt as many times as he wanted, and nobody could stop him.

Tsuna stood at the gate, gazing into the yard across the street. But then—a course of action set—he whipped around, darting straight through the closed door. He bounced up the stairs, past darkened rooms and empty space, sliding through the balcony doors like a knife through butter. He tore through house to the balcony doors. Almost immediately after phasing through them, he hauled himself onto the railing, flailing precariously for a moment before hopping down.

He’d fall if he tried to walk it on two legs (apparently ‘good sense of balance’ wasn’t part of the benefits of being dead), and falling was still a rather mortifying thought to entertain… even though he’d be the sole witness.

_‘How embarrassing,’_ Tsuna thought, _‘to fall before I could even make it onto the roof.’_

Tsuna shook his head, opting instead for a less-potentially-humiliating method. He cautiously lowered his torso, arms splayed out until he was clinging to the railing with only his hands. His only almost-slipping thrice before he reached a shallower part of the roof, one almost close enough to climb.

Almost. 

His knees shook at the thought - the gap between him and the roof was larger than anticipated.

Well...better now than never, he supposed. Nonexistent lungs drew a breath as he leapt up, arms spread towards the heavens and fingers grasping desperately for the ledge...

...Which they fell _just_ short of.

Tsuna began to plummet downward, any hope of control yanked out from under him. Another fall, oddly familiar, but this time through ceilings and floors until he hit the ground. At least his neck was fine.

As fine as a dead boy’s neck could be.

Whatever soul-shattering grief had been slumbering within him woke up howling.

Useless alive, and just as useless dead.

* * *

It had taken him three hours to reach this point.

‘This point’ being in the exact same spot he had been almost three hours prior, preparing to jump from the balcony railing and onto the roof.

Useless alive, and...

He heaved a sigh. Not a breath, a sigh.

...hopefully useful dead.

Ghostly feet sprung from their precarious perch, soaring through the air until their corresponding hands caught onto something.

Paneling.

He dangled for a moment before hauling his body upwards with surprising deftness.

He’d made it.

Useless alive, and sort-of useful dead.

Tsuna spun around—slowly, cautiously—before crowing in celebration. He’d done it.

The roof was surprisingly steep, its shingles smoother than expected. Fortunately for him, they were rough enough for dead feet to still gain some traction, allowing him to keep his footing.

He shimmied further up until he reached the very top, at which point he finally stopped to look at his surroundings.

A look that lingered until it became a gaze, lingering still until it became a stare.

The vantage point from the roof was wider, allowing him to breathe in what seemed to be the town in its entirety.

So, this was the world beyond the upstairs window. Namimori, a quiet sort of bustling, wherein everything was friendlier when you were a stranger.

A stranger not unlike the girl who had found him, dressed in heaps of pitch-black ruffles and an ornate eyepatch. The girl who had told him she was a necromancer, and that she had a plan for him.

A stranger not unlike her companion, the preserved corpse who reeked of cheap cologne. The companion who was a trashy sort of elegant, comparable to… well… something, he was sure. Something unsavory, something that smelled of pineapple.

If strangers like that were commonplace in Namimori, he’d have to take up people-watching more often. 

_‘Maybe they could see me,’_ Tsuna wished, and for that chance alone, he would wait and wait and _wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Tsuna to start branching out and attempt things he couldn't/wouldn't have done while alive, further divorcing him from what he used to be (living). He's dead, and that would obviously free him of some wspectations and mortal consequences - hence, the roof.
> 
> Also, he's really lonely, and watching living people (or even better - talking to them!) makes him feel less so.
> 
> Next chapter is 2k, and a helluva lot more entertaining than this one, so to the two (2) people who read this, I hope you like it! Ig you want to see more of me, my tumblr is [ekourege. ](https://ekourege.tumblr.com)


	6. The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrome has been planning for a while... now it is time for _ACTION!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy yall, just popping in with some ritualistic activity 
> 
> yknow.... shits going down in this bitch!!!! shit happens!!! We get some good Necromancer!Chrome content this time. In this chapter, Chrome binds Tsuna’s body and unchains him from the place of his death. Spooky rituals and wacky hijinks abound. 
> 
> I wasn’t really sure what to do with this one at first, and my first ideas were short and humor based, and I skipped the entire scene where Chrome binds Tsuna to her chosen vessel. However, after a convo with someone knowledgeable, and a lot of back-and-forth, I was able to piece something together!
> 
> read it and you'll see what I mean
> 
> enjoy!!

Tsuna had been reclining on the roof of the house, watching wide stretches of deep blue and swirling white shift to dusty yellow and orange; tinged with flushed pinks, when Chrome had returned from one of her strange, wildly erratic excursions.

He could say with total honesty that Chrome was the strangest person he’d ever met. Period. Namimori had always been a strange town full of interesting (read: terrifying) people, and as disconnected from people as Tsuna was, there was no way he hadn’t heard of the insane skills of one of the baseball teams’ players, or of the feared disciplinary committee. Not to mention that upperclassman who was notorious for challenging and physically fighting almost _anything._

(It had been a long time since he’d thought about these people. 

Tsuna wonders if they had ever thought about him—he’d died after all. He was there and scorned one day, and dead the next.)

However, all their skills and eccentricities were _nothing_ in comparison to Chrome I-raise-the-dead Dokuro. Some people in this town had been strange, but Tsuna can’t recall any of them being capable of _magic._

Where all the others were almost transparent in their strangeness, Chrome was a walking, talking mystery. She had simply drifted into town one day, he found. He’d been hard-pressed to glean anything from her cryptic, confusing conversations, even when he resorted to asking her directly. Which was arguably worse. Other than the odd “Sorry, that’s a secret.” Chrome was fairly free with her knowledge.

Except it didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was dame, or if she was just that damn obscure and niche.

_(It’s not like he could go out and find the answers for himself.)_

Either way, where the necromancer had simply passed through towns and cities before, she suddenly decided to settle down in the backwater town of Namimori—if only for a few months. From what he’d been told, she camped out in some abandoned area in Kokuyo but spent most of her days within town—usually near the town’s few cemeteries or in the little nooks and crannies within the area.

Tsuna couldn’t make heads or tails of her. Couldn’t find sense in her twisted, alien strings of magical jargon or her formal, almost stoic mannerisms, even as she did things that most would find utterly horrifying. She would easily detail to him her escapades in various settings, as well as how she got into various terrible, usually paranormal, struggles. However, getting actual specifics of her magic, or explanations of how things worked and why was like pulling teeth: she would simply change the topic or shut him down, leaving him back at square one and feeling like he’d crossed a line.

_(After all—learning, growing… that was for the living.)_

There was also Mukuro. 

Mukuro was terrifying. 

Television had been wrong about just how scary the undead were. They were worse than he’d been lead to believe. A single glance from Mukuro gave Tsuna the very concerning sensation of his own impending doom, and he wasn’t sure if he could even die again.

Yet, there was a warmth to Chrome. She was fairly closed off and had weird boundaries that he couldn’t yet fully map out, but… she didn’t berate him, even when he fucked up. Or stumbled over his words, or freaked out at things that could no longer hurt him. She didn’t talk down to him. She was mysterious and hard to read, yes, but she liked him.

And no one had ever really liked him before—even his mother hadn’t. (He could see it in her eyes, hidden in the center of her pupils, just under her smile and airy way of addressing him.)

They were friends.

She was his _first_ friend.

_(and wasn’t it a shame that, in order to get one, he had to die first.)_

And now she was back. She’d come to see him again, and that was never a bad thing, even if Mukuro was always lurking just over her shoulders, cruel smile and even sharper words on his blood-drained lips. On multiple occasions, Tsuna bemusedly wondered if it was Mukuro’s mouth and general douchebaggery that got him killed.

(They don’t talk about their deaths at all.)

A shout from Chrome shook him from his reverie, ringing out into the dusky sky.

“Tsunayoshi!”

Within seconds, he was on his feet, bumbling down the edge of the steep roof. “Chrome-san!” Tsuna called, waving an arm in order to get attention. “I’m up here!” 

He tottered hazardously on the edge of the roof, nearly balancing onto the fragile piping of the gutter, when Tsuna, without even thinking about it, lurches forward. He flings himself off the roof without a care, his feet meeting empty air. Involuntarily, Tsuna flails his limbs for a moment, ingrained reflexes present even after death.

He was slowly growing used to the whole lot of nothing that was his existence now. Pain, physical sensation, eating and sleeping, none of that could be achieved now. So, ever-so-slowly—because habits die hard—he eased himself out of tensing when he fell or ran headfirst into something. He still flinched, and some old reflexes still persisted, but they were beginning to lessen, some reflexes—like yawning—disappearing altogether. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about that. 

However, the fear factor involved in heights or falling (which used come in very high dosages, nearly paralyzing amounts, in fact) had diminished almost entirely since he’d become used to trapezing around the roof.

The ground flung itself up to meet him, and Tsuna yelped slightly, voice muffled as he sunk partially into the ground.

There was silence for a beat.

“...I’d ask if you were alright, but you’re already dead.”

Tsuna grunts, pointedly ignoring Mukuro’s mocking, haughty snickering. He quickly extricates himself from the dirt’s loving, cloying hold and brushes himself off—purely out of habit, of course. He was mostly intangible. 

“It seems that Tsunayoshi has eaten dirt… how fitting.” Mukuro says, voice dripping with sour pity and malicious amusement. 

Tsuna scowls, turning towards Chrome and completely bypassing any possible glances at the undead jackass next to her. He makes to step forwards towards her, but halts dead in his tracks when he sees what she’s got in her arms.

“...What is _that?”_ Tsuna gapes, almost incredulously, even as an arm shoots out to frantically point at the decidedly deceased _thing_ in her arms.

“Roadkill. It’s fresh.” She answers as if that clears everything up. It doesn’t. If anything, holding a still-bleeding carcass she picked up from a roadside brings up even more questions.

And, it was gross. There was that, too.

“Wha—What was it?!”

She holds it up for him to get a better look, its limp, bleeding form and exposed guts ragdolling forward. “The domesticated cat,” she says, frankly. 

Tsuna simply stares at it, eyes glued on the mangled cat carcass, when though he keeps trying to move them away—to avoid _looking._ It makes him want to vomit. Tsuna forces himself to glare at the grey wall surrounding the house and gathers the courage to speak around the bile in his throat.

“Eugh…” Tsuna groans, but powers through it to unleash another mortified question. “And, uh, what do you, exactly, plan on doing with that?”

Chrome pauses for a second, but instead of giving him any sort of clear answer, she throws him for a loop, confusing him further and making his anxiety rise. “We should go inside first. The body is cooling rapidly, and I don’t want to waste time.”

Tsuna makes a face and turns to stare at her. “Th-that doesn’t answer my question.”

The necromancer shrugs, Mukuro grinning maniacally at him from behind her. “You’ll know soon enough.”

* * *

Tsuna goes to follow her inside, phasing through the walls directly rather than moving to pass through the open front door. 

He’d rather not keep his back to Mukuro while walking inside the house, it meant nothing good for him—judging by the way the undead man is smirking at him, as if just by looking at him he’s gained sweet vengeance. Or, more likely, blackmail. Lots of blackmail.

It’s probably the latter.

Or at least, Tsuna hopes so.

With that, tsuna scurries ahead to match pace with Chrome. He follows her up the stairs, ignoring the way he can almost feel the wooden railing under his fingertips, trailing the deadened nerves of his fingers along the railing (it’s like his body thinks that it still lives), floating a mere two paces behind her. Droplets of blood drip onto the blood, drop by drop, the quiet patter of the substance increasing Tsuna’s growing feelings of apprehension. 

The house is dark.

The necromancer leads Tsuna and Mukuro into Tsuna’s old room without a word. It’s so empty and so cold—nothing like the old, messy, _lived in_ space of his childhood.

The floorboards creak under the weight of their footsteps. (But not Tsuna’s-)

“Boo.”

Tsuna _shrieks._ He flinches harshly backward, muscles tensing as the tension breaks. Phantom heat flushes his face when he eyes Mukuro’s maniacal grin, and he splutters as he realizes that it was simply one of Mukuro’s attempts at psyching him out.

It had worked. Again.

“Jackass.” Tsuna grumbles, humiliated. His hands fly to his face, and Tsuna tries to hide behind the two appendages, shielding his flustered expression from the other two. Then, annoyed by the walking corpses’ subsequent laughter, peeks through his fingers to glower at him: fear factor be _damned._

Chrome, of course, chooses that moment to take a step forward, his humiliation dissolving as his mind is glued to another, more important event. The necromancer crouches down, setting the cat corpse gently onto the baren wood floors. Curiously, with just a trace of trepidation, Tsuna watches as the necromancer reaches into a small, faded brown satchel and pulls out… and needle and some thread?

He watches in morbid fascination as Chrome takes hold of spilled, squished guts and guides them back into the body, tucking and arranging and just… digging around inside of a dead animal. She takes obvious care not to twist or tear anything, handling the remains with utmost care, as if it were still living; the cat simply taking a particularly deep rest instead of having been killed by a hulking metal death trap flying down a road. It makes Tsuna feel kind of bad for it.

 _‘What is she doing?’_ Tsuna thinks for the umpteenth time, confused and frustrated in equal turns. He’s drawn back into Chrome’s work when the girl loops the thread into the needle, neatly tieing a small knot to keep the thread secured. With the needled threaded, Chrome grabs both ends of the stomach’s wound, and tugs the ends forward, pressing them together. Then, she takes her needle and presses it through bloody fur and skin.

Without any hesitation or disgust, she then begins to stitch up the wound. Watching it is slightly nauseating, but Tsuna finds himself slightly enthralled with the calm, repetitive pattern, as well as the way guts and muscles are slowly but surely closed up, tucked back under skin and obscuring, matted fur. 

Once she finishes suturing up the main wounds, she then… readjusts other parts of the body. She begins by rearranging the mangled tail, bent muscles and joints making noises that make him want to retch. She pops a leg bone back into place, and finally prods at the ribs. She frowns at what she feels, but sighs and moves on.

“...It’ll have to do.” Chrome says, sounding a bit put out.

“Huh?” Tsuna says, intelligently.

“This will be your vessel. I was hoping to pick up something… more functional, but I didn’t want to delay…”

“V-vessel?” Tsuna questions, disturbed.

“I promised you that I’d free you from this place. To do so, I must bind you to something physical. Though I could use whatever object, I felt that something organic would be more suitable.” she explains.

He inhales a sharp, disbelieving breath. “Okay. And so, you want to put me in—in _that?_ ”

“Yes. We can tidy it up more later.”

Tsuna exhales. He almost wants to refuse this, but the thought of getting out of here, and possibly regaining complete mobility…

He doesn’t want to be chained to this place anymore, an abandoned house full of abandoned dreams and buried memories.

(He doesn’t want to be forgotten anymore.)

“I… okay,” he says, finally.

Chrome nods, and then reaches back into her bag. She pulls out a new spool of string, a small drill, and a bag. She unties the bag and pulls out… teeth.

 _Human_ teeth.

“Uh, Chrome-san?” Tsuna says, tone devoid of inflection.

“Yes, Tsunayoshi?” Chrome says, glancing up at him, even as she tests out the hand held drill.

“Where…. Did you get that? And whose are they?” 

“Oh, whose? They’re yours.”

 _“What.”_ Tsuna takes a step back, face scrunched. “Did you seriously rob my grave?!”

“Yes. It took a while to find it—it was strangely well hidden—but I managed.”

Tsuna has to pause at that. “That—you know where my grave is?”

“...Yes?” She looks as if she doesn’t get why he’s asking, why he’s trying to ask such a redundant question.

_‘That means…’_

Before he can question her any further, Chrome goes back to what she was doing. First, she takes the drill and carves kanji into it. It’s too far for him to read, so he doesn’t know exactly what it says, but the necromancer then takes the drill and drills a small hole through the tooth itself. 

Finally, she loops the white string through the hole she drilled into it, looking between the carcass and the string to judge the appropriate length. She bites the string, tearing a bit from the spool and knots the end together.

“This will feel a bit weird. Don’t be afraid.” Chrome says, and before he can reply, she fits the tooth necklace around the cat's neck.

And Tsuna-

Blacks out.

* * *

It was only for a moment, but there was a strange containing feeling, like he was placed in a box just a little too small for him, causing his back and arms to rub against the sides, his head hunched over. He was Tsuna—a ghost—for one moment, and then the next he was both feline and human, living and dead, terrified and dead.

He opens his eyes.

He can see but his vision is different, like color has been washed out of them, faded and murky. He blinks. It doesn’t get any clearer. Tsuna makes to ask _who, what, where, why?_ but all that comes out is… a meow?

It’s a gritty, confused sound, but even as his ears ring with feline articulations, he can hear his own voice just fine, like two sound files layered directly over each other.

“Ah, it worked,” Chrome says, obviously pleased.

His ears twitch, and suddenly he realizes that he can _feel,_ even as muddled and muted as it is.

“Can you hear me?” Tsuna says.

Mukuro makes an annoyed face but doesn’t answer.

Chrome, however, does. “Yes, I can hear you! Even like this, I will always be able to understand you.”

 _‘Well, at least there’s that.’_ Tsuna thinks. For a moment, he’d been worried that though he’d gained mobility, he’d lost the ability to communicate once again.

“I—Chrome-san, promise me something.” Tsuna breathes, suddenly and before he can overthink it and back out.

“Yes?” She says, head tilting a little—to further show that she’s listening.

“Please—could you take me to my grave? I—I want to see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this one was about 3k!!! how about that? anyway, hope yall enjoyed it. feel free 2 hit me up on my tumblr!!!


	7. Will the rain go away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old experiences change and become new again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall kno what the fuck is UP
> 
> i'm back with another drabble chapter! Hells to the fuck yeah!
> 
> This one is short and sweet, enjoy!

Rain had become a weird thing for Tsuna. 

When he was alive, rain meant thunder and thunder meant _fear_ , it meant wanting to shut the doors of his room and cower until the loud cracks and rumbles passed, until the sky stopped being angry and its yelling and wrath dissolved into nothing once more. Rain was closed blinds and mocking laughter when it rained during school, when he whimpered and yelped and his palms grew sweaty with anxiety - it was humiliation and too big, too strong, and too much as it beat on his eardrums and wouldn’t go _away_ , no matter how many pillows he buried himself under.

And then he died - and then the rain didn’t matter, because it had forgotten him as soon as he passed.

When Tsuna was a ghost, he could no longer feel rain on his skin, despite the fact he was in shorts and t-shirt. There were no droplets falling into his eyes when he stepped into his front yard, nor did his clothing get wet. 

 

It didn’t even feel chilly, or like anything. It was nothing, and the droplets just… phased through him. (like - like _he_ was nothing.) 

It, like most things that have sent icy terror coursing through his veins, could no longer hurt him. And so, like most of those terrifying things, it became… harmless. Enjoyable. He could watch the rain as it bounced off of the front yard tree’s leaves and pooled in the grass, running in a miniature stream along the cracked walkway. Clouds dimmed the world’s “lights”, forced the world to go slower, (to stop leaving him behind so fast), and pelted everyone under its influence with pent of tears.

When he died and became a ghost, the rain became kind.

And then Tsuna became flesh and bone again. It wasn’t truly _his_ flesh, per se, but it was _flesh_ and its previous owner had discarded it, so… what was the harm in taking full advantage? (at least, that’s how Chrome had explained it to him).

Furred flesh, worn and torn from previous use, with cobbled together bones and tight tendons that were at the end of their days… it was a wonder Chrome had managed to put the cat back together at all. It was Tsuna now, however; no longer a ghost - _forgotten, at an end_ \- or man - _in spirit wasn’t he still?_ \- but feline. _Undead_ feline.

An undead corpse with deadened nerves, but nerves all the same. 

This changed his relationship with the rain once again.

At first, it was scary, and then it was calming and utterly harmless. Now, with water seeping into his fur (into his _skin_ -) and drenching him, it was vaguely unpleasant. Normally, it would have been considered annoying and uncomfortable, but after going so long without any sensation whatsoever, it almost made him euphoric.

The water was cold, it made his fur clump up and got into his ears, even when he flicked them to shake the water out. It was heavy, and droplets dripped from his drenched form. The rain was in his eyes and he kept trying to shake it out - to no avail.

But, the fact he could feel it, could feel the spine-tingling chill and shiver, have the pleasure of being harassed by the elements once again… it was almost worth it.

_Almost._

“Oh? It seems like you’re enjoying this.” Mukuro observes, an amused lilt to his voice. Tsuna knows this tone, it’s the one that Mukuro uses to mock him simply for existing.

_‘If only he weren’t here…!’_ Tsuna laments. 

“Shut it! I was dead up until now... I didn’t get to enjoy the rain before! I was dead! Just let me have this, you jerk!” Tsuna howls, his tail lashing in irritation. Though yelling at Mukuro makes him feel a bit better, he knows that Mukuro has no clue what he’s saying, apparently. _‘It only sounds like I’m weirdly meowing at him!’_

“Chrome, dear, what did Tsunayoshi say?” Mukuro asks, sidling up to Chrome to beg her to translate for him. Tsuna simply sends Chrome a pleading look, begging her not to say.

Mukuro, as much of a bastard as he was, was quite scary. Luckily, Chrome seems to take pity on him, and does not directly translate his words. (Meows?)

“Ah, he says, ‘it’s wet and I hate the rain’. Isn’t that right, Tsunayoshi?”

“Chrome…! Thank you so much!” Tsuna simpers, padding forward on dainty cat-feet to paw at her shoes. He looks up and peers into her eyes, but before he can say anything more, a droplet of water hits him directly in the face, causing him to flinch back, yowling and hissing.

Mukuro laughs that strange laugh of his. “It seems so! It seems so… shall we head inside, then?”

Chrome shrugs, and before Tsuna can protest, takes him into her arms. Tsuna wants to struggle, but he still has very poor control of his claws, and he _really_ doesn’t want to hurt her with them.

Tsuna resigns himself to his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://ekourege.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Lmk if you find any spelling errors!


	8. The Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She didn’t even _notice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite chapter to write. Outsider POV's have always been a favorite of mine, and Kyoko's mind offers a lot of insight and Feelings(TM) in regards to what happened to Tsuna. 
> 
> She's in a weird position. She barely knows this kid, knows more _of_ him than _about_ him, and none of them are good. However, Kyoko is the school's idol. Everyone knows her, knows about her, and her own reputation has garnered its fair share of gossip and drama. She's skeptical of most things others say, more aware of how information gets twisted and warped, but at the same time she's ignorant and a little apathetic - Tsuna's death too far from where she sits on the social ladder to do more than bug her. 
> 
> It's only through how it's affected the school that it affects her, which is interesting to write about.
> 
> It also makes me feel sad!
> 
> Anyway, Merry Christmas, yall. Happy holidays, and happy new year!

Something was missing. Kyoko had been bothered by the feeling for weeks, like the gap made by a newly lost tooth.

It began with the death of Sawada Tsunayoshi, a boy in her grade who was known for being bad at both sports and academics, as well as talking to people. He’d apparently got into an accident - falling down the stairs and dying by a neck injury. That was what she’d heard, at least, she knew first hand how credible gossip really was. Plus, she hadn’t exactly talked to anyone close to Sawada.

Not that there were many. From what she knew, he never seemed to hang out with anyone, unable to make friends due to his status. Instead of friends or at least acquaintances, he’d been known to garner bullies and indifference from others. She felt bad for him, dying so young after living like that. 

However, despite how everyone either ignored or picked on Sawada, ensuring that no one could ever get close to him, there was now a gap. 

A large one, one that couldn’t be fixed with time or sitting someone in his old seat.

In Namimori Middle School, a void had opened up where Sawada had been. It pulled everyone in with the force of a black hole, tearing the power hierarchy within the school apart without care or mercy, bringing disastrous consequences with it. The boy had stood at the very bottom rung of the power structure within the school, and now that he was gone he’d sent everyone in a mad scramble to rearrange their positions - his death pulling the rug from under everyone’s feet. Kyoko thought it was a sort of revenge for what they put him through, but she also understood why his death had caused such an upheaval.

No one wanted to be the next Dame-Tsuna, after all.

His funeral was a quiet affair, his mother leaving town shortly after, she’d heard. (For reasons currently unknown. The student body had proposed everything from Yakuza to aliens, or that she’d eloped with a rich man now that her useless son was dead. Though, to those who said things like the latter, they received heavy glares and stony silence instead of the resounding laughter that the words would have brought a mere month ago.)

(Guilt was such a strange thing, wasn’t it?)

Regardless, his desk was left empty, and no one replaced it. There was a memorial plaque mounted on the wall of the trophy room, and the world continued to spin on. Every time someone was forced to enter that room, their eyes naturally gravitated towards the stark photo on the wall.

A reminder. One that had permanently quieted the school and shifted its tone, as if his death had sobered something within them. No one cried, no one mourned. No one acknowledged the gap out loud, even those in Tsuna’s class, but it dogged their every step, and the students and staff at Namimori Middle never forgot.

_(“In memory of-”)_

_Kyoko_ never forgot, even though she could barely recall what his face looked like alive - something vibrant and not the static, color-faded photo that hung in the awards room. The entire school body remembered, thinking about him at random times during the day. The empty seat. 

They couldn’t _not_ remember.

 _“There was a person here, someone hated and useless.”_ the seat seemed to say, _“He’s gone, now. He’s never coming back, and there’s nothing that can replace him.”_

The lack of mocking, missing cries of “Dame-Tsuna!”, of jeers and insults from students and teachers alike.

_“Without their black sheep, they’re all the same. They’d just now realized it. What a shame it is, that it took the little lamb dying for them to come to their senses.”_

No shrieking, or wailing.

_“Gone. Someone was here, breathing and living, and now suddenly gone. You know who’s really responsible for his end, don’t you?”_

_“Maybe if someone had become his friend-”_

Kyoko, deciding she’d had enough of that line of thought, physically shook the thoughts out of her head, focusing her attention back on the real world. She was walking home from school, and if she wasn’t paying attention, she could potentially make a wrong turn and end up lost.

The girl looks up from where she’d been watching her feet march forward, peering down the smooth road that stretched out in front of her, only to see a small ball of fur high-tailing it down the street.

 _‘Is something chasing it?’_ she wonders idly, a bit perplexed when nothing follows the poor thing - no out of breath owner, no dog, no wild animal. It had been running down the road, but as soon as it spots her the cat slows its mad dash, coming to a stop in front of her. Its tail is twitching, eyes rounded as it stares up at her, seeming oddly fixated.

There’s still no sign of what was chasing it. The cat pads up to her, meandering over to Kyoko and sitting by her feet. It continues to stare, silent.

 _‘Weird. Still… it’d be rude to ignore it, wouldn’t it?’_ she thinks, and with that thought in mind, Kyoko crouches down, reaching out to pet the cat on the head. “Hello there, do you need something, kitty?” she asks, even though she knows it won’t answer her.

Its ears fold back as soon as she begins to run her fingers through its chocolate colored fur but, oddly enough, it doesn’t shy away from her. Taking this as an encouragement, she continues to stroke its fur, scratching the underside of its jaw and at the base of its ears. It’s been through a lot, obvious due to the knick in one of its ears and a strange, weirdly colored set of scars on its belly. She’d think it was a stray, if not for the weird collar around the cat’s (kitten’s?) neck. It’s… odd, to say the least, but Kyoko can’t judge the cat for its owner's tastes in accessories. It probably had no idea how weird wearing a string with fake teeth attached to it was.

She smiles, pleased, when the cat begins to purr, leaning into her hands as she scratches behind its ear in just the right place. Then, on an impulse, Kyoko picks up the cat, noting that it’s a bit underweight, ribs defined under mussed, but soft, fur. The thing is frozen, ears flattened against its head and eyes wide as she lifts it into her arms, too shocked to even put up a fight. She realizes she’s in the middle of the road, suddenly, and promptly takes both her bag and the cat in her arms and sidles off to the side, firmly out of the way of any potential vehicles. 

Kyoko continues to stroke the cat's fur, cooing at it. The cat simply fidgets a bit in her arms, attempting to get as comfortable as possible before starting to rumble again, having become accustomed to her presence.

 _‘It doesn’t seem to be well taken care of… maybe I should take it home with me. Only for a little while! Just until I can find the owner and remind them to take better care of it…’_ she thinks, having already decided that she’d be taking it home with her. However, as if her thoughts had summoned it, a voice rings from behind her.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my cat, Tsunayoshi! I’d been looking all over for him. It seems that he’s escaped again. Thank you very much for catching him!” chirps the voice, pleasantly surprised. She startles, flinching, and the cat - Tsunayoshi? Who name’s a cat _Tsunayoshi?_ \- bristles, tail lashing in agitation. 

She can see why, as the man who has come up to her is incredibly intimidating, smile too fake and too wide, accompanying gangly limbs and a tall, looming figure. A small pulse of fear sparks within her, but she gulps and widens her stance slightly, steeling herself, preparing to meet him head-on. Tsunayoshi chitters in agitation, pupils sharpened down to slits.

“Oh, it’s no problem! But, sir, are you sure you’re feeding him enough? He’s rather underweight...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Kyoko has her own theories about what happened to Tsuna. "Died via accident" isn't one of them.
> 
> See ya!


	9. Time to Realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, y'all! lmk if you find any grammatical errors.

Today was the day.

Small feet padded along dusty wooden floors, steps light and airy even in their restless, halting steps. There was a warm beam of sunlight filtering in through naked windows; heat sinking deep into his fur, beseeching him to lay himself down and drink in the hazy warmth and sleepiness it invokes. 

It was a tempting offer, Tsuna admits, the thought of just settling down and taking a nap, splayed out in the light. It was an appeal to his more feline senses, ones that had become increasingly intertwined with his human mind, causing Tsuna to take on behaviors that were very much _not_ human.

He could lie in the sun, completely relaxed. It’s not like there was anyone there to make fun of him, at the moment.

The rhythmic patter of paws halts. A thick, fluffy tail thumps against the floor.

...No, he couldn’t.

The pacing resumes.

Today was the day, and he had to be alert. Tsuna had to be on the top of his game. It wasn’t anything bad, per se, so much as... heavy. The meaning of what he would do today would be a confirmation of the things he’d already known, but in a way that was more final, more raw. It would signify all that he left behind.

Today, Chome was taking him to see his very own grave.

Tsuna felt kind of useless, having to rely on Chrome all the time; having to ask her to feed him, open doors for him, restitch old wounds that had burst open due to his latest excursion, along with the other assortments of small, mundane tasks Tsuna could no longer do.

He had really taken opposable thumbs for granted. He’d say he never would again but, well, it didn’t seem like he’d be getting another pair any time soon.

His uselessness couldn’t be helped. He was useless in life and useless in death; he was Dame-Tsuna, after all. At least the whole “possessing a cat corpse” thing wasn’t his fault. He didn’t choose to be sealed in such a finicky, incapable vessel, so it totally wasn’t his fault this time.

But, still, he couldn’t help but feel bad, anyway.

Either way, Tsuna would have to wait. Chrome had gone out on an errand run (the type of errand he did not know), promising to take him to his burial grounds upon her return. He hoped she’d be back before sundown, Tsuna hated walking around at night. Technically, he _could_ just go by himself. It was totally fine for him to wander off and do his own thing. He wouldn’t be punished for it. Chrome wouldn’t even be mad.

There were two issues with this sentiment, however. One, Tsuna was tiny and without thumbs. The doors in the house were firmly shut; there was no way he could successfully open them, and all the windows were closed. He knew that because he’d already checked. And two, he didn’t know where, exactly, he was buried. He didn’t have a clue. Ghost senses were bullshit, and if anything, you became totally detached from the world when you died. So, he only knew that Chrome had shown up one day, a bag full of teeth in hand. His teeth. His very human teeth, which she had stolen from his corpse.

(If it hadn’t been his actual teeth, it wouldn’t have worked, Chrome had said. Tsuna wasn’t sure how truthful she was being, as her expression barely changed from one emotion to the next, but he wasn't in a position to question it, nor was he all that inclined to.)

So, with twitching, scraggly whiskers, Tsuna bounded around the house on anxious feet, and patiently waited for Chrome to return.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long.

Soon enough, the doorknob rattled and turned, sliding open with a soft click. Chrome stepped inside, face impassive, and Mukuro followed just after her, arrogance practically oozing from his purpled skin. Tsuna couldn’t help but hiss at the man a little, even if he had known beforehand that Mukuro would be there.

...He really didn’t want Mukuro to know where his gravesite was, now that he thought about it.  
Unfortunately, it was most likely that he already knew where it was. So, what could he even do, really?

Immediately upon Chrome’s entrance, Tsuna is bounding up to her, tooth necklace jingling. “Chrome-san! You’re back!”

The corners of Chrome’s lips tilt upwards, the smile so subtle that it might as well not even exist. Despite the doll-like, placid visage Chrome presents, Tsuna knows she’s being sincere. “Yes, Tsunayoshi. We can go to your grave soon if you’d like.”

“Please,” Tsuna whines, “I’ve been _dying_ of boredom.” his tail swishes and comes to curl around his feet.

“What’s he saying?” Mukuro half-whispers to Chrome, who then proceeds to repeat exactly what he said, word for word. This only makes the man smirk down at him.

“All that yelling, just because you were bored? A bit pathetic, don’t you think?”

Tsuna’s ears twitch in displeasure. “Shut up,” he growls, but going by the way Mukuro’s eyes glitter and his grin widens, he didn’t succeed in trying to scare him.

Tsuna puts one paw forward, tail lashing. He fully intends to give the undead asshole a piece of his mind, but suddenly a boot is obscuring his vision, subtly urging him back.

“No fighting.” Chrome states.

“But he-”

 

“No fighting.”

“Ugh.”

And that’s the end of it. Chrome is then tucking her more weighty belongings and supply bag into a spare storage closet, eaten by cobwebs and cloaked in dusty grime. Once she’s done that, the trio are out the door, soaking in the way the sun warms their skin (and fur, respectively), while a cool breeze caresses their cheeks and runs dainty fingers their hair. (And fur, again.)

It’s a beautiful day.

If only it were early spring, when the sakura were blooming. Then, it would’ve been truly perfect.

He hadn’t gone Sakura viewing in such a long time… now that he had a body, he’d have to go this upcoming spring.

He could have opted to ride the duration of the walk in Chrome’s arms (never, _ever_ Mukuro’s. Never again-) but Tsuna found himself more comfortable when he was able to walk on his own and stick his head into random nooks and crannies along the streets. It felt less… constraining, and more meandering. More peaceful.

All good things must come to an end, however, because even Mukuro’s heavy-handed taunts couldn’t distract him from the sight of the graveyard approaching, just down the road. Five meters, four, three, two…

They were at the gates. It was a cemetery styled after those in the west, probably done at the request of his dad. He’d always acted more Italian than Japanese, no matter how small the blood percentage was.

(At least, that’s what his mom had said. Not the last part, obviously, but… most of it.)

“Shall we go in, Tsunayoshi?” Chrome asks, peering down at him.

“U-uh, yeah.”

One step, two steps, three and they’ve passed the gated threshold into the cemetery, quickly following a small stone path towards the back of the lot. The back of the cemetery is more isolated, more private, ensconced in thick bushes and gnarled trees. The headstones are smattered in congealed lichen, too, less clean and upkept than the ones towards the front. Then, under the shade of a tree, he spots a large, clean headstone, vivid flowers of varying types set in front of it. Burned incense remains dirtying the surface of a small bowl.

They stop in front of it, instead of moving on down the path.

“This is it.” is all she says, lightly urging him forward with the palm of her hand.

Tsuna wishes he could swallow the lump in his throat, phantom though it was.

(Maybe it was a hairball?)

Tsuna steps forward, tail directly upright. He inches all the way up to the headstone, so he can read the characters clearly.

“Sawada Tsunayoshi” it reads, “1991-2004”. There are no extra words, no quotes or fanfare. Simple, plain. “Tsuna died and is buried here.” it seems to say.

It’s overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. Pain and grief clashing with relief and exasperation, swirling in a confusing concoction of feelings.

“Oh,” he whispers. It comes out of his mouth a small chitter, a barely there meow.

Sun dapples the headstone in pearlescent light through the thick canopy above it, even while a breezes rocks the leaves and branches of the trees, threatening the petals of week-old flowers.

It’s a beautiful day, and Tsuna is dead.

Well and truly dead.


	10. A House Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrome gets some… unpleasant news, along with all the unpleasant memories associated with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, just wanna use this A/N to let you guys know that there isn’t like… some sorta big plotty conclusion to this fic. Frankly speaking, it’s just that I don’t have the time to continue writing for this on a strict update schedule. The original plan was for me to co-write this, but that sort of fell through, so I’m the only one really writing/working on the au itself. I decided that adhering to a strict monthly schedule would be impossible for me due to my current workload, but I didn’t want to just abandon it or prohibit myself from writing from it all the sudden.
> 
> So I decided I’d write up to 10 chapters, of varying topics and themes (it’s a non-chronological drabble series, after all), and close it there. This way, I can come back to it if I hammer something out while discussing the AU, but I don’t just abandon the work or force myself to keep up with a commitment I can’t really handle!
> 
> Needless to say, my life is very busy, and I’m working on a lot of other projects (some are KHR!) while trying to balance Real Life.
> 
> To all who read it, thanks for coming along! If you wanna hear more about the AU, jump onto my

It was a beautiful day. The clouds plumed up in great tufts of white, stark against the deep blue horizon, even as it curled and warped according to the curvature of the earth, gliding along invisible currents. The sun beamed a pleasant warmth, just close enough to hot to make people dress light, but not searing - not that anyone in Chrome’s little group had gone out to enjoy it.

It was a lazy day, simply speaking.

That meant they’d stayed in, lounging about in comfortable clothing and just grimy enough to where they wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the house.

Chrome had tucked most of her more _involved_ materials in the back of a closet for the day, arranged neatly on an old, dilapidated sofa, still ensconced in her nightgown. Tsuna was, of course, right beside her, pressed into the cushions, curled and nearly purring as they chatted lazily. The day looked to be dripping by at a lagging pace, like a just-tipped hourglass. There was no rush, no rituals to hold, no errands to run - just twenty-four empty hours, and whatever they decided to do to fill the space.

Mukuro was just across from them, leaning over the battered coffee table to pour over his favorite coat; it had gotten ripped on one of their most recent adventures, leaving Mukuro in a particularly bad snit ever since. He was making increasingly frustrated attempts at mending the material, but it appeared that he was close to giving up.

Tsuna’s ears twitched. If Mukuro gave up he was more than likely to start harassing Tsuna himself, jabs angry and harsh. It was his way of releasing steam, but Tsuna really didn’t care for it, no matter how many times Mukuro pet him during it. (And even that was mildly humiliating still. Tsuna wasn’t a genuine housecat, even if he looked one.)

Think of the worst, and it shall come, it seems, because the moment Tsuna shudders in horror in having to endure such a horrifying fate, Mukuro heaves a great, frustrated sigh; nostrils flaring, chest heaving, a disgruntled tick to a stiff brow and a sharp frown to accompany it. Mukuro stabs the needle into the fabric and spins around. His long, gangly arms cross over each other, the very picture of annoyance.

It seems he’s given up.

 _‘I have the worst luck,’_ Tsuna thinks, and no he is _not_ sulking, ‘ _don’t look at me that way, Chrome-’_

“Aah, Chrome dear, I am having a bit of… _difficulty_ repairing my coat. Would it trouble you to fix it for me? I assure you I could fix it myself, but it seems to be a bit more… involved than I’d expected.”

...Lazy, pompous bastard.

It must show on his face somehow, covered in fur though it may be, because Mukuro shoots him a very pointed look, one that has him bristling.

 _‘Hypocrite that you are,’_ it seems to coo, _‘what have you been able to do on your own, other than stay curled up on the couch or in Chrome’s arms?’_

His long, fluffy tail lashes out in agitation, and going by Mukuro’s sly smile, the corpse-man now knows he’s hit his target.

“It would be no problem, Mukuro,” Chrome says, ever agreeable. “Hand the garment here, would you? And please, while you’re at it, fetch my sewing kit - I’m afraid that my work isn’t at its best when I’m not using my own supplies.”

Mukuro chuckles, and where on anyone else it would be fond and chest-deep, on him it is hollow and off, like a tv with settings slightly off-kilter, like the hollow of a tree trunk where there is nothing but dirt and mud, no life in sight.

It’s a disconcerting laugh, and one of the main reasons Tsuna is (suitably) wary of his fellow undead.

(Tsuna doesn’t know how the man died, but just by the way Mukuro talks and walks and looks at the world as if all of it is beneath him - it can’t be good.)

(His death wasn’t good either, but, well, it was an _accident_ . Mukuro’s… likely _wasn’t_.)

“Of course, dear,” Mukuro says, a winning smile plastered onto his cold, greenish-grey skin. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but his facial muscles don’t form the expression quite right, thus relegating it to a warped, cunning smile.

Soon enough, though, Chrome has her sewing kit beside her and the tattered piece in her lap, diligently working at the clothes’ wounds with deft, nimble fingers.

With nothing to occupy him, Mukuro realizes Tsuna’s fears. For a single moment, Tsuna falls under the impression that Mukuro will leave him alone, as the man simply tucks his hands into his pockets and looks elsewhere, rocking back on his heels.

He really should’ve known better.

Within minutes, Mukuro gets bored of being patient and minding his own business, and sets his sights on Tsuna. Which is unfortunate, because Tsuna had just managed to sink into a sight doze, thoroughly enjoying being burrowed in the lumpy couch.

The undead man had decided to be quiet for once, silent upon his approach and causing Tsuna to miss all the signs. Usually, when Mukuro was bored or agitated, or just wanted to cause trouble, he’d be all sharp jabs and rumbling cackles, tending to take potshots from afar. Tsuna could never respond properly to any of his taunts due to his rather feline vocal cords, but instead of tiring Mukuro out and making him give up as Tsuna had hoped, it only seemed to encourage him; Mukuro finding his non-verbal indignation “quite amusing” as the man himself had put it.

He’s curled into the cushioning, nearly starting to purr again, when a stream of air is shot directly into his ear. Tsuna flinches and flicks his ears once, twice, and then three times. The air current doesn’t stop.

Tsuna blinks his eyes open, paws flexing. Lo’ and behold, Mukuro is there, crouched down and blowing air directly into Tsuna’s ears. Like an asshole. He flattens his ears and scrunches his nose, curling tighter into himself until most of his face is hidden in his flank.

The blowing stops. Tsuna mentally breathes a sigh of relief.

Then the poking starts. He almost thinks he’s being pet for a split second, when Mukuro simply jabs his finger into Tsuna’s thin rib cage, further annoying the hell out of him.

His tail thumps against the couch. “Stop,” he tries to say, but instead it comes out as an angry rumble.

Mukuro doesn’t stop.

“Cut it out!” Tsuna rebukes, curled so far into himself he may as well be more sphere than cat.

The poking continues, and cold fingers jab at his neck, along his spine, at his feet, at the back of his skull.

Tsuna flexes his paws again. His tail smacks against the couch. His ears are nearly one with his head.

He’s about to unleash a tightly wound flurry of claws and scratch the bastard’s smirk clean off when instead of a feline shriek, there’s an _aviary_ one instead.

The caw, hoarse and demented, sends him jumping an entire foot and skittering under the table, away from Mukuro and the hellbeast that is the raven.

He hisses at it for good measure, fur raised and eyes pin-pricks. It ignores him, hopping and claws feet towards Chrome, who has put down her sewing supplies, watching the bird with wide eyes.

 _‘How did that get in here?!’_ Tsuna mentally shrieks, slightly hysterical.

It caws again, gurgling and strained. Chrome peers down at her lap, swings her eyes back up to the little piece of parchment wound around the crow's leg, to the rest of the group.

The necromancer reaches out, as if the bird will suddenly burst into flames the moment she gets too close (which, honestly, isn’t that outlandish these days), and gently unties the string securing a piece of paper to the bird’s leg.

She pulls it back to herself and unfolds the paper. Chrome breathes a nearly inaudible sigh and begins to read. Tsuna watches, silent and watchful. Mukuro does, too, if in a more obnoxious, violent way.

“Chrome, dear, should I get rid of this vermin for you?”

“There’s no need, Mukuro-san,” she says absently, pouring over the letter. Chrome seems fine at first, face placid, but the further down she reads, the paler her face becomes, and her eyes widen just a _bit_ more. When she comes to the end of the letter, she simply stares at it.

Concerned, Tsuna takes that as his cue to speak up.

“Um, Chrome-san? Are- are you okay?”

He goes from concern to near-hysteria when Chrome doesn’t answer, doesn’t even _look_ at him, merely swallows and inhales deeply.

“Chrome?”

Broken out of the moment, Chrome swiftly refolds the letter, peering at the raven. “You can go,” she says, _pleads_ , sounding a little more broken than he’d expected from her.

 _What was the letter about?_ He wants to ask, but even Dame-Tsuna realizes knows that is territory that none of them will be comfortable exploring. So, instead, he curls his tail around his paws and waits.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Chrome feels trapped. Her head is jumbled, the contents of the letter bouncing across her mind and aggravating old wounds.

She thought she had more time.

But, no, the family legacy always catches up with her eventually. She’s not sure if she wants to cry, scream, or run away (or all three), and the combination of them swirls together into a sick concoction of paralysis and poorly concealed panic. So, for a long moment that squeezes by like an eternity, Chrome just sits there and _breathes._

_‘Maybe if I just, get this over with, I can finally be… sort of free? I don’t think it’ll ever truly end - it never has! - but maybe I can… come to some sort of compromise, yes?’_

_‘...I don’t want to go back.’_

But she would have to, wouldn’t she?

There was no escaping a funeral and subsequent inheritance, after all. Not with her family. She either went and endured the memories, the people, or she dealt with the fallout.

She didn’t ever want to be at the mercy of those people _ever again_ , didn’t want to be forced to become _like them_.

Shared blood or no, they were not family, not really.

But she’d have to go.

(She had to. If they could get this message to her, then they already had some way to hunt her down.)

(She _had_ to, for the sake of her freedom and her friends.)

“Chrome?”

Blinking, Chrome looks towards Tsuna, ears pricked and the rest of him partially hidden under the coffee table.

...She had to do this, but maybe she wasn’t alone.

“We’re to pack, Tsunayoshi. Time is of the essence, unfortunately, and it will be a long while before we’ll be able to return.”

“Huh?!” Tsuna squeaks, head tilted. “Why?! Where are we going?”

“Yes, Chrome dear, where will we be heading?”

Chrome pauses. She inhales, holds it, and exhales.

“Home. We’re going… home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, see you around!


End file.
